“It definitely is,” I say, knocking pebbles into the fire with a poker still crusted with last night’s marshmallows on it. My stomach growls, but I can’t imagine finding any food appealing with what’s on my mind. “What’s going on?”
Beck stares at me, so close I can see how chapped her lips are. “Do we think Vanessa even exists? What if that was just her excuse to check us out?”
I run the toe of my shoe through the dirt. “We could check that with Natalie pretty easily.”
But Beck doesn’t answer right away.
“What if we break into her van instead?” Beck says it without a bit of hesitation, but the shock all but knocks the wind out of me.
“Beck, we can’t—”
Beck turns her whole body toward me. “Emma, we need evidence. This girl could have the only evidence we’re ever gonna get about Paisley, Opal, and Harlow. Let’s go in there and if we happen to find something related to Paisley, then great. If we don’t, then Ivy’s a dead end. Either way, we can ask Natalie about Vanessa and go from there. But trust me; we can do this. We have to.”
I sigh. What if Beck’s right? What if this is the only way to get more information about what Ivy knows? Maybe one would call it unwise for a lamb to go into a wolf’s den. But we don’t have time to be scared. We don’t have time to hesitate. Ivy is the closest thing we have to the bloody woman. If we don’t act now, it’s up to my imagination to picture what could happen to us a second night—and I have a pretty fucked-up imagination.
“Once she leaves her van, we go,” I say.
If we’re not careful, we could end up in some deep legal hot water. Maybe even real jail, when it comes to Beck. It leaves an uneasy feeling in my chest, but we have no choice.
“Alright. Let’s do it.”
We end up waiting twenty minutes, watching the parking lot for Ivy to leave her van. Enough time to force protein bars down our throats and change into fresh clothing. Nerves have killed my appetite, but I need the brain fuel.
Once the coast is clear, we make our move. I keep my distance from Ivy’s black van, like I’m approaching a bear in the woods. As if there’s a distance one can keep where you can’t be blamed for any criminal activity. I force a deep breath; we’re really going to do this. We’re really going to break into a car.
Unease fills me as I walk closer to examine it. The feeling of borrowed time sits heavy as I go over my options.
The van is modern, so it has an electronic lock. Not exactly surprising, as I haven’t seen a car with one of those old-fashioned golf-tee-looking locks since I visited Bubbe and Zayde in Monterey for Passover. But it makes our method pretty straightforward. There are more electronic-adjacent ways to hack your way into opening a door, but this’ll have to do for now.
“We need a wedge and a really long, thin stick,” I say. “All we have to do is get the stick in there and press the unlock button.”
Beck rubs her chin. “Okay, we have the metal s’mores sticks, but what about the wedge?”
I look over at the welcome center. “A doorstop is the easiest one.”
I swear Beck’s eyes light up. “Give me a second.”
Beck runs off, out of the parking lot and into town. She’s back within a few minutes, out of breath and with a doorstop in hand.
“Okay, so I can’t go back to the general store,” Beck says, a laugh escaping her.
For a moment, her enthusiasm and impulsivity reminds me of Owen. How despite our brains being knowledge sponges, he shed all the caution that I grew. How he’d come into the house laughing about pranks he pulled on his teammates, never mind the dire consequences the next day. It’s stupid behavior, but it’s impossible not to envy the ease with which things brush past him.
The way Beck can still let things brush past her.
“Great,” I say, taking the wedge. “Thank you.”
If Ivy’s going to search for Vanessa, she’ll be gone a while. But we should work as quickly as we can.
I move to the car to start jamming it open.
“Gotta ask,” Beck says. “Where did you learn to do this?” She leans against the back door as I work on the driver’s side window.
I shrug. “True crime documentaries. A lot of them aren’t about murder.”
I dig the wedge between the window and the frame.
Try to, anyway.
